


True Form

by CiaraK_1996



Series: “I never wanted you to see me like this.” [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Angels, Angst, Demons, Depression, Fallen Angels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 16:20:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaraK_1996/pseuds/CiaraK_1996
Summary: “I never wanted you to see me like this.” - Is a prompt from https://pandaboop.tumblr.com/ and this is the first of many ideas that came to mind.Crowley's visit to Heaven takes its toll on his mental health, and he decides to torture himself by reminding himself what he is. Only he's not as alone as he thought he was.





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley was depressed. Drinking alone in his perfect apartment, thinking too much. It happened every few centuries; something would piss him off and he’d hate himself for centuries. This time though he had gone to Heaven. He had done it to save Aziraphale and would do so again in a heartbeat, but walking through those halls, even though they had changed so much, reminded him of the angel he had once been.

A hundred thousand angels had Fallen in the War. It was not a war really, more like a riot really, by human standards. It had started when Lucifer had questioned God’s trust of humans, questioned why angels, who were the first children of God, should have to bow and serve humanity. There were only three of them and one had been banished to die; they were weak, stupid, and _beneath_ them. Crowley simply did not understand why they existed, what purpose they had, and what Lilith had done to deserve banishment. He was asking questions at the wrong time, and all his friends were joining in the riots. They wanted to be noticed by an absent mother, and so they burned.

Crowley reluctantly thought of the old order in Heaven; originally there had been Ten Classes of Angel, divided into Three Spheres. The lowest Sphere held three classes of Angel; Principalities ruled there and still did, two wings and mostly human looking. Archangels had originally been beneath Principalities which always made Crowley smile, thinking of Gabriel having to take orders from Aziraphale, however, the Archangels had been elevated after the First Sphere after the Fall. The lowest class was Angel; a generic term for those without a specific purpose, the peasants in Heavenly terms, they dealt mostly with human affairs and paperwork. The Second Sphere was led by the Class of Dominions, the Lords of Heaven; they regulate the lower angels and rarely held corporeal forms, Crowley vaguely remembered blinding lights and orbs. Beneath them were Virtues and Powers; Virtues were the choir, the heralds; Powers were the soldiers, never seen out of armour or uniform.

The Highest Sphere was different, closer to God Herself; the lowest class was Thrones sometimes called Ophanim. Even as an angel Crowley had been creeped out by them; glowing spheres and rings spinning dizzyingly, and so many _eyes_. Above them were the Cherubim, Aziraphale’s former class. Crowley wondered what his true form was; practically human with two wings and divine light like the other Principalities, or if he somehow resembled his original self; four great wings, and four faces of a man, ox, lion, and an eagle. He supposed Aziraphale must look like a Principality these days, though when he had seen him as a Cherubim in Eden, he had presented Human-like with only two wings, so it was hard to tell for certain. Then, the highest order; Seraphim. The Seraphim were terrifying, beings of golden flame, with six wings, featureless faces and echoes of shape within the flames, but in truth, they just served God personally and that made them pompous dicks really.

Crowley had been a Grigori, they were of the First Sphere, bellow the Cherubim and above the Thrones. Grigori were the watchers, and perhaps they watched too closely. Adam, Eve, and especially Lilith had shown curiosity regarding the new world around them, Lilith’s punishment should have warned them away, but angels were divine, not mortal, surely the same rules did not apply to them. Grigori angels were not very human-like, they had a similar body, but the arms and legs were bony and too long, a few too many fingers and their skin had been pale grey. The most obvious features were their six white wings and the featureless face with dozens of glowing blue eyes; after all, they were the Watchers. All the Grigori fell in the First Fall, along with many Angels, Powers, and Dominions.

Crowley stood and sauntered to the bathroom, he had done this thrice before; the first time was right after he fell and figured out how to turn out of his snake form, the second he was angry and the sight before him erupted a volcano, the blast had killed thousands and Hell had given him an award. The third was after reading _A Picture of Dorian Grey_ at Aziraphale’s recommendation. Crowley swore that Aziraphale must never find out how much he hated that book and that he had cried into bottles of strong wine for a month. He stood before the mirror, grim and gaunt. He relaxed his shoulders and allowed his body to shift, the slender appearance of Anthony J. Crowley melted away revealing what he was beneath all the layers of lies. The general shape was the same, but everything else was different. His skin was darker, blotchy shades of grey and darker snake scales. There were scorches and deep lacerations that never healed, he did not know if an angel in their True Forms could bleed or what their blood looked like, but Crowley’s wounds had been slowing oozing hot black tar for the past six thousand years, burning his being slowly. Four of his six wings had burned right off when he fell, leaving scorched flesh and protruding splintered bones. The two wings left to him were black with soot, when he first saw his new form, he had tried to wash them to see the white again, but it hurt too much. The worst was his face, more than half of his eyes had gone milky white and blind; God’s wrathful light had done that. The rest of his eyes were no longer bright sky blue, but yellow-orange like his snake eyes, though lacking the slit pupils.

Crowley stared at his broken form, some naïve part of him had hoped he had done enough good to stop the pain or at least the bleeding. The scars on his face attested to why he would not cry in this form, he had never cried as an angel, but as a demon in his True Form, he had found the tears were some form of acid that burned the fragile fresh the encased what was left of his celestial being.

Crowley stepped closer to the mirror and over his shoulder he saw Aziraphale. He was just standing there, staring, his lips parted slightly at the sight of the demon. Crowley panicked, the desperate need to hide his true form was his only thought and he accidentally turned into the form of the giant snake he had been in Eden. He thrashed in his distress, accidentally slamming into Aziraphale who had rushed into the bathroom. Snakes are heavy and strong, and the force of the impact threw Aziraphale into the wall with such violence that several white tiles shattered and shards and dust fell into Aziraphale’s golden curls as he slumped to the floor.

“Ow,” Aziraphale groaned, rubbing his head before turning his attention back to the giant snake that was coiling and writhing, trying to hide in the bathtub, “Oh! Crowley!”

Aziraphale heaved himself off the floor and hurried to the bathtub, the snake appeared to be shrinking and Aziraphale lifted him out before he attempted to slip down the plughole. Crowley was almost the size of a copperhead snake by the time Aziraphale sat down on Crowley’s bed. Aziraphale lifted his hands, elevating Crowley to his eyeline, “You can stop shrinking now, dear.”

Crowley coiled around Aziraphale’s hands, turning from his gaze and lost a couple more inches.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, forcing Crowley to look at him again, “It’s difficult for me to talk to you when you are like this. Take your time but _talk_ to me.”

Crowley made several attempts to escape, and eventually, begrudgingly relaxed into Aziraphale’s hands. After an hour he wriggled free and began to transform. Crowley sat on the bed beside the angel, he hugged himself, frail and isolated. Aziraphale waited patiently and politely for Crowley to speak. He opened his mouth and sobbed.

“Oh, _no!”_ Aziraphale exclaimed and without hesitation or thought wrapped his arms around the demon, holding him tightly and whispering sweet comforts. He held him for hours, the sun had left London in darkness and by the time Crowley began to calm it was almost dawn.

The first rays of light began to glow over the east of London when Crowley began to speak, his voice was rough and weak, “I’m sorry, angel.”

“For what?” Aziraphale whispered, refusing to let Crowley go.

“I never wanted you to see me like this.” He muttered, fighting back tears, human tears made his eyes sore and his headache but at least they did not burn the flesh off his face.

“Why?” Aziraphale found himself asking, it was not what he intended to say, but it seemed appropriate.

Crowley lifted his snake eyes to look into Aziraphale’s blue, “I … I’m ashamed.”

Aziraphale squeezed him closer, resting his face in Crowley’s blood red hair and something told him to kiss his head, “There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Crowley nuzzled against his chest, wrapping his arms around the angel. He mumbled something.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked, pulling back slightly to look at him.

“I’m a monster,” He breathed, inaudible to human ears.

“No!” Aziraphale gasped, “No, Crowley, look at me.” Crowley did so reluctantly, “You are not a monster. You are my best friend. You have a good heart, beneath all your tall talk and sinister tricks. You could _never_ be a monster.”

A small sob escaped his lips, “But I _am_!”

Aziraphale cupped his face in his hands, “You’re beautiful.”

Crowley scoffed, “I thought _I_ was the one who was blinded.”

“You saved the world,” Aziraphale continued, ignoring him, “You are a better Angel than all of them!”

“But I’m not!” Crowley was crying again uncontrollably, “An-and I…I n-never will be!”

“ _God_ should be ashamed,” Aziraphale murmured, not talking to anyone, He looked into Crowley's teary gaze, “She should never have done this to you.”

“Careful, angel,” Crowley warned, unable to stop the smile flickering across his face, “You might fall for saying something stupid like that.”

Aziraphale smiled, his face so close to Crowley’s, “I have.”

Panic was Crowley’s initial response and then bewilderment, “I don’t … being demoted from Cherubim to Principality does _not_ count!”

“I fell in love with you,” He whispered, his blue eyes were full of worry and anxiety as if Crowley could refuse.

Crowley sudden noise escaped somewhere between a sob and a laugh; a broad smile fought through the falling tear “I … I love you too.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley back into his arms and held him tightly and whispered gentle affections.

“I never wanted you to see me like this,” Crowley repeated, feeble and lethargic.

“I’m glad I did,” Aziraphale whispered, kissing Crowley’s crown freely, “It showed me what’s important, and the most important thing in this universe is you, my dear.”

Crowley smiled, snuggling against Aziraphale’s warmth, “Don’t leave me.”

“Never.”


	2. I Will Ease Your Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale decides that it's not fair that only he got to see Crowley's true form. In their celestial form, they find something interesting...
> 
> A little follow-up from True Form, I wanted something sweet but it's bit dark ... oops. (WARNING: issues of pain and a bit of self-harm...ish)

Aziraphale had held the demon for over a day as he cried and shuddered, and slept and cried some more. He knew that Crowley had had some issues with his fall in the past, but they were drunken confessions that were presented as jokes which Aziraphale never found particularly funny. However, they had spent the past eleven years seeing each other at least once a week if not nearly every day. They knew each other so much better than they ever had before and Aziraphale was ready to open his heart to him now, something he realised he had always wanted to do. But Crowley’s current state meant he was not really listening; he was sceptical of every sweet confession of love that he muttered affectionately. Crowley had even demanded he leave him alone in his misery, but Aziraphale simply held him tighter.

Aziraphale stood abruptly, “Fair is fair.”

Crowley watched him cautiously and the angel frowned trying to figure something out. Finally, Aziraphale gave a small satisfied smile and his appearance started to melt away, Crowley leapt off the bed towards the angel.

“You don’t have to,” Crowley whispered as Aziraphale’s face began to fade.

“Yes, I do.”

The being before him was neither like a Principality nor a Cherubim. As a Cherubim, Aziraphale would have had four faces; one of a lion, an eagle, an ox, and a man, but now only the man remained. It looked almost like Aziraphale, but it was blurred like too much airbrushing and his eyes were orbs of glowing blue light. His head was crowned with light golden flames that could have been hair or a crown, and his skin was like marble, veined with silver and flecks of gold. At first glance you would say he looked 'male', but really it was a generic shape of a human, not enough detail to determine physical sex, after all, angels did not have sexualities or gender unless they thought to create a body capable and presenting a particular gender; Aziraphale presented as male out of habit and ease, though would likely not notice if he woke up one day female. Crowley, however, switched and changed, presenting differently as the mood took him, he often presented as male but even then, he crossed dressed because he liked a certain item of clothing; gender just offered interesting options.

Crowley could see where the other three heads had been carved from his shoulders, the jagged wounds were awfully stitched, never allowing him to heal. Crowley saw the blood then, _angels do bleed,_ it was silver, oozing in the same gooey way his black tar bled. He looked for permission in Aziraphale’s bright eyes before circling him. Cherub’s had four wings; Principalities only had two. The lower pair had been hacked off; small splintered bones protruded slightly through the rough stitches, and they were bleeding too.

“I shouldn’t have said a demotion didn’t count,” He muttered, guilt-ridden.

“It doesn’t really,” Aziraphale assured him, “It doesn’t hurt nearly as much.”

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s shoulder and melted back into his true form for the fifth time since his fall. He looked at him through damaged eyes and loved him.

“Ow!” Aziraphale exclaimed leaping away from Crowley a little. Crowley was not at all sure if he could look alarmed or concerned in this form, but that was what he felt. Aziraphale’s body was facing him, but his head was looking over his shoulder at something on his back. After a moment he dug his fingers into one of the wounds on his neck to make it bleed more.

Crowley rushed forward, he couldn’t really speak without a mouth or vocal cords, but biology and physics were not thing angels or demons ever worried about, “What are you doing?!”

Aziraphale smiled but did not answer. He took his bloody fingers and gently rubbed the silver ooze onto one of Crowley’s burns, it was cold and soothing. Crowley flinched and watched in wonder as the black scorch washed away, leaving blotching grey skin and a faint scar beneath.

“W-what?”

Aziraphale smiled brightly, “Your blood,” He spun to show his back, “It cauterised the cut. Stopped the bleeding.”

Crowley looked at the small burn he had caused, fighting back acidic tears.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Aziraphale whispered, wrapping his marble arms around the demon, he was still smiling, “We can _heal_ each other.”

Crowley’s heart, if he even had a heart in this body, swelled with love, but he could not help himself feeling remorse at the idea of having to burn the angel when he would feel gentle ease at his touch in return.

Crowley shook his head and stepped back, “I won’t hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Aziraphale whispered, kissing the burns on the demon’s face, “I love you.”

“But,” Crowley protested, but Aziraphale was already bloodying his fingers, “Angel … don’t.”

Aziraphale stopped, “I can’t return your wings, but I can stop the pain, & I am _going_ to.”

Crowley loved his optimism and devotion, but this was too much to ask, “I’m not worth it.”

Aziraphale’s halo burned a little brighter as he frowned, “You will _always_ be worth saving. I am not accepting no as an answer, but at least let me soothe your wings?”

A tear began to sizzle in one of Crowley’s blinded eyes and Aziraphale wiped away the tear with his thumb, stopping the pain instantly but the eye remained blind.

“I can’t heal you entirely,” Aziraphale whispered, “But I can take away your pain.”

Aziraphale placed delicate kisses on his deformed face, wrapping his arms around the demon so his bloody hands could reach the stumps of his broken wings. Crowley hummed as the cold ointment alleviated his constant agony. Despite the flames, Aziraphale was oddly cold to the touch, Crowley wondered if he was hot as Aziraphale pulled their celestial forms together. Crowley could feel the angel stiffen as his blood burned him, and wished he could move away, but Aziraphale had him secure within the embrace of his arms and wings. They bled into one another, healing their divine wounds through their devotion to each other.

Crowley felt dizzy and sedated, and Aziraphale sat down stiffly, Crowley slowly shifted into his usual human-form and kissed the burns, “How bad is it?”

Aziraphale smiled and faded back into his soft fully clothed human-form, “It feels good not be bleeding all the time.”

Crowley nodded holding the angel's hands in his, knowing all too well that his angel must be in pain. Aziraphale pulled the demon to him and then shifted further onto the bed so they were both sitting on it. Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face and kissed him, firmly and lazily.

“Zira,” Crowley gasped, against his lips, but the angel only took advantage of his parted lips and deepened the kiss. Aziraphale’s hands wandered, wrapping around the slender demon, pulling on his short hair, pushing him onto his back. Crowley groaned as the angel kissed and lay over him, “Aziraphale.”

“Hm?” He responded, placing kisses on his cheeks, jaw, and neck.

“Zira,” Crowley gasped as Aziraphale nipped lightly at his neck, “What are you doing?”

“Loving you,” He whispered, he was tired from the loss of celestial energy and from the burns from Crowley, but he wanted to kiss him more, to make him understand. Having confessed, the truth flowed easily, “I love you.”

“I’ll never hurt you again,” Crowley whispered, pulling on his angel, “Please don’t ask me to hurt you again.”

“You could never hurt me,” He whispered, “I feel _whole when_ I am with you.”

Crowley looked into his eyes and saw the truth of his words shining through, “I will always ease your pain.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have had several thoughts based on the simple prompt and plan on writing each of them. I may or may not add to this particular thought (happier thoughts involving the bed they're sat on perhaps), depends on what you think.


End file.
